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Apollo slings an arm over his sister’s shoulder, twines his fingers in her pale blond hair.
There’s sitting on the edge of a cliff, legs dangling. The train will be passing through soon. He’s counting down.
He knows she is too.
He brushes a hand down her spine, her posture straight against his knuckles.
“We should go soon.” She mutters. He nods, knowing she’ll read his reaction regardless of the fact that her eyes are not on him.
They are twins, after all.
She kicks up to her feet easily, lands with all the grace of a goddess (she’s not, but Apollo thinks she should be). Her hands falls to the bow slung over her shoulder, resting on the leather sleeve over her chest, leading to the quiver on her back, filled with silver arrows.
He has a matching one, of golden arrows instead of silver. He’d contemplated turning them in for a gun at some point, but couldn’t; his abilities came not from the weapon, but from whom he stood next to.
She reached a hand down to pull him up, the sun hitting her pale hair like a halo.
He takes it, and stands up straight, barely keeping himself from relishing in the cool of her skin.
They have five minutes until the train stops. It takes exactly three minutes and two seconds to descend the cliff, and twenty-three seconds to get aboard the slowed train.
His gaze slips to his sister’s, but she’s not looking at him. Her eyes are trained ahead, shoulders pulled back so seriously.
He reaches out, grabs a lock of hair and tugs.
She turns her head and glares, not slowing her steps in the slightest. She doesn't say a thing, but he hears her loud and clear.
He offers her a grin. Her expression softens; not in an obvious way, but in a subtle way he's learned to distinguish over time. Sometimes he thinks it’s to do with being twins; sometimes he thinks it’s simply what happens when you spend so much time around someone you forget to draw the line where they start and you end.
And they reach the barren dirt end of the hill, he wonders if his sister has the same problem.
He presses the hook into her hands, and she gives him a quick look. You complete your role, I shall complete mine. It’s easy to read, when this is how they’ve spent their whole lives, after their father left and their mother died shortly after. It’s always been Artemis and him, him and Artemis, pickpockets in the city, running through the woods and the streets, always by each other's side.
This was it. The big job. The one that could put them off to somewhere where normal people go; he could go to university, get an education. She could become a wife, find a husband who doesn't work in the mines and come home coated in soot (but he can’t picture her life that, no matter how hard he blinks; the thought of her as a housewife is laughable)
One and a half minutes.
He counts over in his head the routine; wait for the train to slow, Artemis to throw the hook. Walk onto the train; he’d secured a (faked) invitation to the event being held on board, by nobles and the high class. Then, while he played distraction, Artemis would sneak in and steal the real prize; the golden gilded rooms of jewelry; pieces of gold and silver and diamonds rich enough to pull them out of poverty.
He closes his eyes and sees it all for a second: him and her, an apartment, big city lights and a full fridge for once, a home. None of mom’s legacy of constant bag packing and blind terror.
His hands are shaking, but it’s not from nerves.
He glances aside to where the train is going to be coming from any second now- three, two, one- and locks eyes with his sister. She meets his gaze, chin raised.
For the briefest second, her lips quirk up into a smile. Then the expression falls and she nods, and he straightens his posture to match hers as she strides off, to hide in the shadows while he roams the light. This is how they’ve always been.
The train pulls up, wheels screeching. Apollo hands off his fake ID to the guard, walks in like he belongs. They've done their research; he knows the layout and the people like the back of his hand.
He steps into the train, letting his posture relax to give the room an easy smile. He's always been good at that, good with people. Nothing like Artemis, who comes to life around a bow and arrow gleaming in the night, a sprint down the city streets under the stars, alone with no one but him and giving just the slightest smile.
The place is light with wealth; ornate decorations hanging off of every corner, the rug a tapestry probably worth his weight in gold.
And the people. Lit in a practically golden aura, decked in robes and suits and- was that girl in armour? He shook his head. Stay focused.
He knew these people. Or knew of them, at least. Centuries rich family, owned a company that was practically a country. Three brothers at the head of it, a pantheon of other minor rich managers at their sides.
His ID said he was some sort of far off distant cousin, but it wasn’t really that important. He was there to distract, to pull their attention from any astray rustling that might cross their minds, to socialise.
And that, Apollo did very well.
He turned to the first person who crossed his path; the young woman he’d sworn had been in armour just half a minute ago. She wasn’t; he’d been seeing things. Her name was Athena, and she planned out a good half of the company (according to her). He memorised but didn’t really bother with this information, kept his eyes on hers with an easy smile. Her eyes were hard, he thinks. She reminds him a bit of his sister, except harder to read, and like she more or less expected the world to fall into place should she work hard enough for it. Artemis didn’t have that look. Artemis had never had that look.
“You were saying?” Her voice prods gently at his thoughts, though she’s clearly displeased at his lack of attention. He starts, shaking his head and offering her an apologetic smile.
“Apologies. I was simply distracted by the beauty around me.” he smiles at her, letting her take that as she means.
She eyes him, and for a second he’s worried she’s caught on to him, but no. That’s enthusiasm lighting in her eyes, not suspicion.
“Your portion of the family prefers another type? Which? Do they enjoy architecture? You know,” she cuts herself off with, “I’ve designed most of the buildings here, too. HQ was my personal design.”
He nods, pretending to know what she’s talking about. “Ah, yes. It’s quite nice.”
She smiles, as if she already knew that but likes the compliment anyway. “Thank you. And you? Do you enjoy design?”
He subtly shifts his weight, passing his gaze over the room. Most of their eyes are off him, but there’s one lady, tall and proud, whose eyes are on him. Her lips are turned down, chin tipped up.
He passes his thought back to the conversation at hand, figuring he’d be best to abandon it before she drove him into a rut that required him to demonstrate his high couture knowledge of architecture, a field in which he was significantly lacking. Poetry, maybe. But architecture? The thought of a stable home was foreign to him, never mind some grand display of that- stability, the ability to withstand time.
It was so far away it felt like an illusion sometimes.
He offered her an apologetic smile as compensation, telling her with a casual intonation to his tone, “It’s enjoyable to look at, although I can’t say I comprehend it much. Too much math and lines and logic. I’ve always had a greater fondness for music, poetry, the arts.” He says, because he knows the best lies are told with truth weaved in.
She nods, as if disappointed but not truly surprised. “If you’re more interested in the décor maybe you could talk to Aphrodite. She’s… interesting.” Athena says the word interesting as though it’s quite the insult, and he takes that as his cue to leave.
He nods at the woman she'd gestured to, gives one smile to her unfazed expression. “Pleasure to meet you.” He says, and Athena smiles a smile that gives absolutely nothing away. He turns away.
Aphrodite is a woman decked in long silks, pale hair tied up back loosely,- his breath catches in a way that feels unnatural. Something in his mind tells him she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Truth be told, she reminds him too much of someone else.
He shakes his head, tries to clear his vision, and greet her instead.
She greets his with a smile and a cut-glass gaze, lips tilted up like a cat’s.
“Aphrodite.” She says, without so much as a handshake, just an odd aura around her, sipping a glass of red wine. “I do know you, right?”
“Maybe.” Is what he says. “I’m not from around here.”
She savours her words. “No. You aren’t. But I do know you.”
He does his best not to look surprised at that, carefully schools his expression to curious instead of panic, and listens. Because she’s still talking.
Her gaze is knowing. Something uneasy takes place in his chest. He doesn't like it. He’s always had an uncanny knack for the future, and the concept of someone else taking that away from him twists at his heart.
“You love someone. Someone close, don’t you? And you think that they’ll never love you back.”
He starts, taken aback. “What are you-”
Her eyes are gleaming. “Many lovers, but this one... This one’s complicated, isn’t it?”
He blinks, wondering if he’s suddenly entered dreamworld without knowing it. “You’re quite-”
She sighs dramatically, twirling a hand in a smooth lock of blond hair. “Could tell the future, just not all of it. Like me.”
He tilts his head, giving himself a split second to judge his response. If she knows…
"I don't know what you mean," he says, even though he does, when he closes his eyes he'll see things - things that have yet to occur.
He thinks of his dream last night, Artemis' fingers curled in his hair, hand against his chest, pulling him closer, closer-
But sometimes his dreams are just dreams.
He comes to like lightning, eyes back on Aphrodite as she twists the seashell necklace laced around her wrist. He eyes are silvery, dark- he gulps.
Her expression is twisted up into the smallest of smiles. “You’ll figure it out. I trust-” she swirls the stick in her drink- “and I do not make mistakes.”
He tilts his head.
“I- I’m not sure what you’re saying.” but he is, he understands.
He just thinks- knows- she's wrong.
“Don’t worry. You will soon.” She says, and then, “Hera,” as a greeting to an approaching woman, nodding her head, keeping that cat like smile upon her face. Her eyelashes dipped.
The woman (it took a second to recall her; she’d been the one looking at him before) pulled up next to Apollo, casting him a glance before her attention fell back to Aphrodite.
She nodded, giving an acknowledgment of “Aphrodite,” before continuing.
“I noticed I haven’t seen this young man before.” She turned to him, clearly expecting a greeting.
He gave her it, putting out a hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Athena’s second cousin.”
Her eyes caught in the light. He thought they looked a bit metallic- gold, tinted red. Vague movement reflected in the black of her pupils- he thought he caught a flash of a knife.
That happened sometimes. He’d look into his sister’s eyes and see her with a bow under the night sky, always.
“Hmm.” She said, agreeing, before turning back to Aphrodite, fingers clenched tight around the stem of her wine glass. Apollo was slightly concerned she would break it.
“Forgive me, Aphrodite, would you mind if I stole him from you for a minute?”
Aphrodite shook her head. Hera walked off, gesturing to him to follow. And because Apollo knew she was the head of the company’s wife, he did, tensing his shoulders and fixing his posture. He didn’t trust her, whatsoever. The look in her eyes- he didn't trust her. There was something bitter about this woman, something broken.
Such judgment was proved correct when they pulled up into a quieter corner, and her smile fell from her face and her eyes lit, lips turning down.
“Why are you here?” She hissed, back turned to the rest of the carriage.
Apollo started. How had she found them ou-
“You were supposed to be dead. I thought- your mother-”
He shook his head. “Wait, what?”
She looks at him as though he’s an idiot, and that privilege is reserved specifically for Artemis.
“Your-”
Footsteps crush whatever words she was aiming for, loud and confident like thunder itself. Apollo looked up; and there stood none other than Zeus, three times his size, head of the company, looking down his nose at them.
“Hera,” he said, booming voice and a wine-induced grin. “How goes the night?”
Hera tilted her head, hair falling to the side and eyes going wide with a tight-lipped smile.
“Well, husband. I was just talking to this fine young gentleman-” her eyes cut to him like daggers, “And I was thinking, perhaps, that we should offer him a job.”
Zeus furrowed his eyebrows at her. “A job?”
Hera smiled. “Yes, I had just been discussing some things with him here, and I believe it’d be good to make him a head of office of some sort. Near you.”
Apollo didn’t know whether sober Zeus would have thought this predicament suspicious; whatever the case, Apollo decided to maneuvere away, pressing himself up against the wall and attempting to slide out from where the couple was talking. He glanced up at the clock; he had maybe five minutes before the train slowed. He had to get off then; crack a window if necessary, jump, then run like hell and meet Artemis in their designated spot. The two of them could run like the wind, and there was no way to turn to train on its axis or any popular roads nearby, so all they’d have to do would be outrun the guards and stick undercover for the next few months while the case blew over.
His sister would probably have a head start on him, he’s trying to calculate if he’d be able to catch up with her; they never had really figured out who could run faster, maybe he could beat her-
“What are you even saying? That-” He had, for the most part, tuned out Zeus and Hera’s argument, running over the logistics; generally that was Artemis’ realm, but better safe than sorry.
Tree whipped by the window. Maybe four minutes.
“Wait-”
“He’s your son ! And he’s supposed to be dead!” Hera screeched. “You and that whore Leto-”
Apollo blinked. What? Leto? Mom? Hera sounded absolutely hysterical, and-
Holy shit.
Zeus was- And Hera was his wife, so-
She was why he’d spent his entire childhood on the run.
Because she was jealous.
He pressed his back to the wall, balled his hands into fists.
Zeus, for his part, looked confused, kept glancing back and forth between Apollo and Hera, jaw gaping.
“Are you-”
“ Yes! Have you seen him? When you close your eyes- he’s got the aura!”
The what? His eyes flew to the window. Three minutes, tops.
Zeus seemed to know what this meant. “You mean- he does! Hera, I’m so-”
“Don’t even bother.” Hera waved a hand. Apollo blinked, wondering what on earth was going on.
“Uh, if I might intrude, what are you talking about?” He asked, curiosity getting the best of him. If only just- he wanted to know.
Hera and Zeus pulled out of their conversation, which by now had caught the attention of just about everyone in the room.
They both blinked at him for a second. “What?” Zeus eventually said.
Apollo tilted his head, raised his eyebrows. “I was curious as to what you mean by… ‘aura’ and…” my mom being a whore. And the whole ‘you should be dead’ thing.
Zeus paused.
“You’re a greek god, son. We’ve been kind of wondering where you went, actually.”
Apollo blinked. “What.”
So yeah, maybe he’d been able to see the future- glimpses of it. Maybe he always did run way faster than everyone else (except his sister). And maybe he always seemed stronger than everyone else.
And his blood ran gold.
Zeus met his eyes, over Hera's fury and the rest of the room's bewilderment. "We were hoping to find you. You have a place here." Hera shot him a furious glare.
You have a place here. For so many years, he would've died to hear those words from his father, a mysterious figure forever in the background, who their mother talked about like he was a-a god- who for so long he'd hoped would save them from the empty fridge and constant terror and the endless running.
But, he-
That had been a long time ago. This wasn't what he wanted any more.
He’d always thought himself- nevermind human- just an urchin, nothing special. The only special thing about him was that he was lucky enough not to be alone.
He thinks about her. His sister. The one who was born ten minutes before him, and will never let him forget. Whose smiles are rare but more beautiful than any gold, whose fingers are as graceful and taunt with the sky slash of a pen when she looks over his poetry as they are over the thin strings of a bow. His sister, who loves nothing more than the hunt, chasing through the forest, him hot on her heels and she's always smiling, catch me if you can and Apollo will always think I could only wish. His sister, who he trusts more than anyone. His sister, who he loves. In more ways than one.
His sister belongs in the woods, among the city streets, on jobs. And he belongs by her side.
It’s not a hard choice.
Ten seconds.
Nine.
Eight.
Someone was shouting something. It sounded like Hera.
Seven.
Six.
Someone that sounds like Zeus replies. He hesitates, just for a second, thinking that maybe he'd have answers, why he left Apollo and Artemis' mother, why he couldn't have stayed. But he thinks he knows the answer. And he doesn't want to hear excuses.
Five.
Four.
Screaming, shouting, china being thrown. He unlatches the window, fingers white on the sill.
Three.
Two.
He hooks a leg over the edge, stares out and nearly faints from vertigo, and-
One.
He jumps.
He lands with a roll, dirt in his mouth as he jumps to his feet and sprints. He looks around, eyes trained to catch the slightest flicker in his surroundings, bits of ligjt gleaming off the golden train, and-
He sees his sister grabs at the hook, lands on her feet, hair tossing to the wind, unbound now. She’s mired by the wind, her figure a mere shadow in the distance.
Then she reaches up, bent elbow, and it shows, a gleam of light amongst the shadows.
The diamond glimmers clear and cool in her hand.
He smiles. In this light, he can swear she smiles back.
He runs after her, fast as the wind.
.
“We won’t be able to sell this one without someone catching onto our trail. It’s practically inevitable, no matter how well we cover our tracks. I mainly took some other jewels- they should be enough, anyways.”
He tilts his head quizzically at her. “Then why’d you steal that one?”
She shrugs. “I wanted to.” A smile pulls at the corber of her mouth, but it’s killed by the unforeseen sadness in her eyes. “I heard what they were saying to you.”
Apollo’s lips curved into an ‘o’. The diamond practically crushed in her hand makes a lot more sense now.
Her eyes cut to him. “They’re not allowed to hurt you.” She says, hand white-knuckled around the glimmering diamond, voice dropping to a whisper.
“Only you’re allowed to do that?” He says in jest, recalling the line she’d once given him- a joke, even then, she’d been dead tired and he’d been whining incessantly, or at least so she claimed.
He knew his sister wouldn’t hurt him. Probably. There had been that one time, with Daphne-
“No.” She muttered, low and probably not meant for his ears, but Apollo had a knack for stuff like that. “You do that to yourself regardless.”
She’s meeting his eyes now, gaze so fixed on him he’s pretty sure he’s out of breath just looking at her, eyelashes painted over her pale cheeks like dappled moonlight.
And-
And he understands.
"Artemis-"
"I hate watching you get hurt." He lips tilt downwards, something soft and breakable catching in her eyes. "But… I wouldn't want a life without you, a life where we didn't have to take risks."
Her hand is right in front of him, her fingertips rough with calluses he knows come from the bow.
He gathers his courage, thinks of how many times he's thought of doing this. Then he reaches forward, and claspes her hand. Her skin is smooth and cool where his is hot, and her smile makes him melt.
"You don't know how many poems I've written about this." Because he had, and he does, scribbled out words in his dollar store notebooks, wondering how specific he could be before his sister discovered all his love poems were written in her name.
She raises an eyebrow. "About us?"
He smiles. "About love." He thinks, and reaches out to pull her closer, only to find she's already done that and more, her lips giving way under his as her grip on his shoulder tightens, pulling him close against her, just under the little ledge protecting them from the rain. A car drives by and soaks him, but he just pulls back and laughs, mirth reflected in his eyes.
He doesn't know how he didn't see this coming (he did, but he didn't believe it.) This feels inevitable, like jumping off a cliff is to falling.
He presses the diamond into her pocket when she pulls him in for another kiss. Maybe one day they'll leave this life, find a house and live somewhere for more than a week.
But it doesn't really matter. He's already found a home.